


Ruined

by sludge



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-05
Updated: 2014-02-05
Packaged: 2018-01-11 06:37:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1169850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sludge/pseuds/sludge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I am a Bureau leader and a cartographer now, not a doctor in charge of cleaning up you and your messes, you know. You could do with learning how to fix the things you ruin, for once.”</p><p>Malik is furious and Altair doesn't know why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ruined

“Are you a _child?_ I cannot believe this, Altair; I truly cannot believe that you have trained your entire life in the ways of the Assassin, yet this is what you choose to do.” Malik ripped off a long strip of bandage with his teeth, the cloth snarling as sharply as he was. “An absolute child.”

Altair scowled. He _wanted_ to retort with something about how _most_ children weren’t jumping from wooden beam to moldy, rotten, unstable wooden beam to escape guards after assassinating a power-hungry tyrant on orders from Al Mualim himself, but he held his tongue. He knew a rejoinder would earn him another layer of the healing salve with which Malik smothered his shoulder. That paste stung like hornets and Malik knew it.

“Twenty more seconds and I would have had to close the Bureau and leave you to escape from those guards on your own,” Malik continued acidly. “I’d almost rather leave you wounded, bleeding in a haystack, _alone_ , than expose this place.”

Altair felt a red umbrage grip him from deep within; his heart pumped hard and he scowled. “Your generosity is _astounding_ , Malik,” he shot back.

“I am a Bureau leader and a cartographer now, not a doctor in charge of cleaning up you and your messes, you know. You could do with learning how to fix the things you ruin, for once.”

Malik wrapped and deftly folded the cloth around Altair’s shoulder, and his touch— _his touch_? Altair felt his rush of rage recede when Malik so, so softly, delicately just _touch_ ed Altair’s arm—just for a moment, after the bandage was secure, so quickly it might have been on accident, so lightly it left goosebumps. Malik’s touch was… infinitely gentler than his words. The contrast of his harsh words and the almost-caress of his fingertips made Altair’s head spin (although not in a bad way).

Malik dragged his hard gaze from Altair’s shoulder to the stained cowl and shredded robes that littered the floor.

“You can mend your own clothing, by the way. I don’t have time to fix anything more than broken skin and I’ve only done _that_ because you are too stupid to tend to yourself without making the wounds worse.”

He spat like a wet cat in his contempt, but Altair knew he masked a deeper insecurity with that quip. Altair had seen Malik struggle with a needle and thread by candlelight, late at night and long after he thought Altair was asleep, and then hurl the cloth into the wall out of frustration because he couldn’t sew with one arm. Altair had grown accustomed to recognizing whenever Malik’s rage was just a result of his natural state of being or because he was defensive about something—a skill forged from years of training together. A degree of antipathy was normal for Malik, absolutely, but Altair wondered if and what was buried underneath all the unusually scornful words. Had Altair done something else wrong?

 _No_ , Altair thought. _Malik is always quick to point out my mistakes—he would not waste a second in letting me know if I did something else wrong._

“I truly am grateful, Malik, for everything you have done for me,” Altair asserted in a low, earnest voice.

A pause. “Turn around and let me see your back now,” Malik said, his voice perhaps a little less venomous.

Altair turned away from Malik and bowed his head. There was a quiet, yet sharp, intake of breath from behind.

“These are deeper than what I initially anticipated, Altair.”

“Though nothing more serious than what your expertise can handle, I expect.”

Malik laughed derisively. “Only a novice like you would land so heavily on such soft, rotten wood and still receive such wounds.”

But Malik, despite his harsh tone, tenderly and slowly cleaned the cuts on Altair’s back. Altair felt him wash the dried blood off with a cloth so wet and cool that it made him shiver. Then Malik’s fingertips, slick with the healing salve, brushed lightly over each tear in Altair’s skin; each gentle touch a soothing contrast to the bite of the balm. Altair closed his eyes, his chin on his chest. The medicine’s sharp, flooding scent and smarting sting were slowly starting to fade from his awareness as he focused on Malik brushing and tracing patterns from the base of his neck all the way across each shoulder blade, down, down his spine, down, down, _down_ onto the small of his back.

Altair wondered briefly if Malik’s hand alone could heal him of his wounds.

When it came time to apply the bandages, Malik reached around Altair’s broad torso to wrap him with the clean, white cloth. Whenever Altair took the bandage from Malik to bring it around to the other side, their hands brushed together. It took several times to fully wrap the cloth around Altair and each time Malik would lean in close, coming not an inch from Altair’s back—close enough that Altair could feel the warmth radiating from Malik. Altair didn’t mind. He felt Malik’s warm breath on the back of his neck and Malik’s hand grazed his chest as he smoothed the cloth after each hand-off. Altair concentrated on the repetition of the bandaging—Malik leaned forward and the inch of space between them was heated (or at least, it was for Altair), then Malik leaned back and left Altair with a momentary feeling of loss before he returned and leaned in close again. Perhaps once or twice Altair would grasp Malik’s hand instead of the bandage. Perhaps Malik would not immediately pull away.

Altair decided it wouldn’t be so bad if maybe Malik just rested against his back and they would sit with each other for a moment (or maybe many moments). They could breathe together in the silence and the glittering sunbeams would warm them from the open ceiling. They would not worry about wounds or reports or Templars. They would not talk or bicker. They would just breathe.

Perhaps he was dozing after a long day of assassinating bloodthirsty Templar leaders because Altair was pulled from a (somewhat sybaritic) trance when Malik’s ministrations ceased and his hand no longer presented him with a strand of cloth. Altair frowned. He spun around on the wooden stool to see Malik’s dark eyes staring downwards into space, his brow furrowed.

He looked… confused. A little dazed. _Or maybe conflicted?_

Malik’s eyes shot up to meet Altair’s and lingered for a half second before he pushed himself up from the table.

“Hopefully those bandages will remind you not to make such idiotic mistakes again, _novice_ ,” Malik spat with fresh, unexplained ferocity. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I must send Al Mualim a message explaining why your pathetic self won’t be returning to Masayaf for a few days.”

“I don’t see why I have to—”

“Because if you leave the Bureau and travel through the Kingdom before you’re fully healed, God only knows what kind of thoughtless, irresponsible, reckless messes you will get yourself into, you imprudent _idiot!_ ” Malik’s voice rose to almost a shout near the end.

His words stung more than the healing salve; Altair didn’t understand Malik’s unabashed malice. He had been so gentle and caring when tending to Altair’s wounds….

“Malik, I don’t know why you raise your voice at me. Traveling through the Kingdom is not dangerous and my wounds would in no way impede a trip that short. Tell me why you are so angry.” Altair's own burning rage was beginning to well up in his chest again in response.

Malik scoffed. “Just shut _up_ , Altair, for once in your life! _I_ am the Bureau Leader here and you will do as I tell you! And I am telling you to keep yourself from any further danger!” He spun on his heel and stomped off towards the back room where the messenger birds were kept.

“You are to leave me alone for now, novice, but don’t you dare leave the Bureau,” he hissed over his shoulder.

**Author's Note:**

> "Dammit, Altair! I'm a Bureau leader, not a doctor!"
> 
> Chapter one of many.


End file.
